


Something Unexpected

by Elizabeethan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Don't Like Don't Read, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Priest Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 02:43:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29586036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeethan/pseuds/Elizabeethan
Summary: Killian Jones has never felt especially devout to the church, falling into Priesthood following the death of his brother and father. When Emma Swan beings attending nearly every service, he knows her presence to be a test of his will. One he will most certainly fail.
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 11
Kudos: 47





	Something Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following anonymous tumblr prompt: A Gentle “I Love You” Whispered After A Soft Kiss, Followed Immediately By A Stronger Kiss 
> 
> Titled as such because this became something I was not expecting... 
> 
> If smutty priest!Killian is not your thing, no hard feelings!! Please just skip this one and I’ll catch you next time 😇💛

He hears the clicking of her boots against the stone flooring long before he even hopes to see her. He knows which ones she must be wearing before she even gets to his office, recognizing the tall pair that reaches above her knee in the most deliciously sinful way by the tone of it’s clicks against the hard surface. They’re the same pair she wore yesterday during his sermon, where she continued to cross and uncross her knees as she made eye contact with him, biting her lower lip in a way that made his pants too tight. 

Killian Jones fell into priesthood by accident. After the sudden death of his father and brother left him with the family business, he decided that preparing the dead for their services was not for him. With little other options, and with his philosophy degree already pointlessly completed, he obtained his master’s degree in divinity without a clear path before him and became a priest in the small town of Storybrooke, Maine. He’s never been extremely devout, but meeting Emma Swan has made him question his devotion to the church more than he even thought possible. 

The first time he met her, the first time he saw her staring up at him through thick lashes, her big emerald eyes glowing in the candlelight during evening mass, he thought it must've been a test. Something greater than himself sent a devil dressed in an angel’s clothes to ensure his allegiance to God, and he failed miserably. He hasn’t been able to stop the thoughts of ruining her since then, though he hasn’t touched her once in the six months that they’ve been getting to know one another. 

Several times a week, Emma makes confession to him, starting by listing silly things she’s done like throwing away her leftovers because she didn’t like them but felt too guilty to refuse a to-go box, or double parking someone at the post-office because she was just running in for a second. But every once in a while, she teases him by confessing her impure thoughts for a man of the cloth, her knowledge of his fidelity to the church just barely outweighing her desperation for him. It’s driving him mad to absolve her, to tell her that she is doing the right thing by ignoring her desires. 

But today, she’s meeting him after telling him the night before after his service had ended that she needs counsel from a man of God. He can only hope it’s for the usual things he deals with, like mild anxiety or feelings of uncertainty surrounding her faith, but based on his knowledge of her after all these months, he knows it must be something else. 

A part of him, the part that the devil likes to taunt, hopes it’s something else. 

There’s a soft knock on the door and he calls for her to enter, the heavy slab of wood gliding across the stone floor until she peeks her head through. “Father?” she asks, and the tone of her voice does something to him despite being referred to as his title each and every day. 

“Hello,” he returns, clearing his throat. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you for seeing me,” she says softly, giving him a smile that makes his heart race. Her cheeks are flushed and pink, and he hopes it’s from the cold air she had to walk through to get to him. “It’s comforting to know that I have someone I can talk to.”

“Of course, love,” he says, wanting to kick himself at the informality. They’ve spent months getting to know each other, although it’s always with a partition between them and with the possibility that someone could overhear. He clears his throat. “Uh, my child. What brings you to seek counsel this evening?” 

She swallows, gulps, and he notes the anxious bounce of her right leg causing her heel to tap

against the floor. “Well, I… I’m worried, Father.”

“What about?” he asks with concern. Despite how clearly he knows that he should stop, he cares about her deeply and struggles to hide his concern for her. 

“My symptoms,” she says softly, timidly, “they haven’t gotten any better.”

His heart rate picks up as she mentions her _symptoms._ He begins to sweat, his collar feeling much too tight as he realizes exactly to what she’s referring. “I see. And, um, you’ve tried what we’ve discussed?” 

She nods solemnly. “Yes, I’ve been praying and praying each day, but my desires continue to plague my mind and body.” 

His mouth goes dry and his stomach curls in knots. “Remind me, child, of what desires you speak, exactly?” 

She bites her full bottom lip and stares at him through her thick, black lashes. “My desires to be with a man of the cloth. Not only to be with him physically— to show him what he’s been missing in his years of service to God— but also… to _be_ with him. To spend a lifetime with him. To love and be loved by him.”

He stands from his chair, hearing it scrape against the rough stone, and walks around the desk towards her with haste. He’s hardly able to breath, each puff of air coming out hot and short, and he notes the rapid rise and fall of her own chest as her breasts swell against the tight, low cut top she wears. Clearly, it’s another one of the devil’s tests, and he’s about to fail. He kneels before her and takes her hands, placing both sets in her lap. “And your prayers have not worked?” 

Shaking her head, she says, “each time I pray to God to ask Him to steer me in the right direction, I see an image of you before me. How can I follow God’s will if, each time I try, I’m met with that which I am trying so desperately to avoid?”

“Avoid?”

Her mouth is downturned, open slightly, her brows straining in concern and her chest heaving as she pants through her nerves. “I wish I could see and speak to you each and every day, Father. But I know that if I were to do just that, I would never stand a chance. I would never fall out of love with you.”

He stops breathing, releasing her hands from his own and reaching them into her hair as he grazes his fingers along her scalp in a way that makes her lashes flutter over her cheeks. “Emma,” he breathes against her mouth, coming closer and closer to her as he feels her breathing picking up. She bites her bottom lip sinfully again, tracing her own fingers along the edge of his collar before he closes his eyes as well. 

He hasn’t kissed a woman in ages, but he knows with certainty that the kiss they share now is more passionate and more meaningful than any he’s ever had. It’s soft and gentle, allowing both of them the opportunity to melt into the other’s hold, before she pulls away breathlessly and squeezes the collar of his shirt. “I love you,” she whispers, her swollen lips pressed just barely against his mouth. 

Her expression drives him to madness, to sin, and he lunges for her more powerfully this time, pulling her head to his and kissing her fiercely. She moans lewdly into his mouth as his tongue traces the seam of her lips, her fingers finding their way around his neck and into the thick hair at the back of his head. She pulls him impossibly closer to herself, until his hands slide down her back and lift her from the small chair, placing her on his desk. She separates her knees from one another in order to create enough space for him to rest his hips against hers as he continues to kiss her with the passion he’s been wanting to unleash for months. 

Parting from her for just a second, he cups her cheeks with his palms and traces her high cheekbones with his thumbs. “I love you, Emma,” he whispers back to her. He furrows his brows and continues to stroke her cheeks, only this time it’s to catch a tear that has slipped from her jade eyes. “What is it?”

“How can we love each other and never be together?” she cries softly. “How can the Lord be so cruel as to make us so perfect for one another, only to make it impossible for us to love each other the way we both deserve?” 

He shakes his head, kissing her tenderly once more, and says, “nothing is impossible, my love. I have every intention of being with you from this day forward.” 

“How can you say that?” she asks with a touch of anger in her voice. 

“Because I love you,” he answers simply. “Because my love for you is stronger than anything else in this world and in this life. The way that I love you, the way that I intend to love you, transcends the way that I feel about anything and everything else.”

“What about the church?” she asks him, her fingers tracing along his clerical collar, which suddenly feels much too tight. So tight, that he loosens it and places it on the desk behind her. 

“The church is not ever going to make me feel the way I feel when I’m with you.” 

It’s his confession this time that drives the two of them together, her fingers finding her hair again and his pulling on her lower back so that their hips are pressed together firmly. He feels her hooking her ankles together behind his thighs and it makes his stomach churn in the best possible way as he lets his fingers explore the soft skin under her skin tight knit sweater. She moans into his lips again, and the way hers part gives him access to sneak his tongue inside and explore until she begins panting needingly. She tightens her thighs around his hips, pulling him more firmly against herself until he begins to swell against the seam of his pants. That’s when he notices what she’s wearing, the knit sweater paired perfectly with a skirt that was modest in length, especially with her tall boots, until she sat with her thighs spread on his desk. He grinds his own hips against hers and she moans so erotically that it makes his cock pulse harder. 

“I want you,” she begs against his kiss, swiveling her hips on his. “Please, Father.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” he groans. “Please call me Killian.”

She pulls away from him and gives him a smirk so lurid that he loses his breath. “You don’t want me to address you formally?”

He chuckles breathlessly and says, “I’d rather forget about my ties to the church, if I can. After all, I plan on resigning tomorrow.” 

She snorts. “Can you even do that?” 

He shrugs, his palms finding her rear and pulling her to the edge of the desk. “I’ll find out.”

She lets out a cry, a bit too loud despite the privacy they’ve found in his office, as he tugs her sweater above her head and laps his tongue against the lace of her bra. He wonders if she wore the garment on purpose, with hopes of how the evening would go, and finds himself pulsing in his slacks at the thought. 

“I’ve not tasted,” he breathes against her hardened nipple, feeling her tug at his hair. “A woman,” he starts again, biting down just hard enough to make her moan. “In quite some time.”

“ _Fuck,”_ she pants. 

“And I’ve never met a woman I’ve wanted to taste more desperately than I want to taste you, my love.” He bites her collarbone and then licks the sensitive flesh and her hips cant against his. “May I taste you, Emma?” he whispers against her neck. 

“God, yes, please,” she starts, but he cuts her off by pressing his finger to her lips. 

“ _Killian_ ,” he whispers with a smirk. 

She snorts, and while the sound may detract from the mood slightly, it makes him love her even more. “My apologies,” she jests. “Now, what was it you said you wanted?” 

He’s practically growling as he places his warm palms on the smooth skin of her thighs, wondering in passing how cold she must’ve been in the chilled fall air on her way into the church. “I want what I’ve wanted since the moment I first laid eyes on you,” he says, sinking to his knees between her thighs. “I want the taste of you on my tongue. I want to make you come so hard you see stars behind your eyes.”

Her breath catches in her throat at his declaration, and when he runs one finger along her dampened underwear, she gasps and pushes her hips forward until she’s barely hanging on to the edge of the wooden desk. He lets his hot breath flood her sensitive core and she keens at the sensation, her knuckles turning white with the force with which she grips the surface. “Okay,” she whimpers. 

“Is that something you’d like?”

“Yes.”

He hums in agreement and lets his teeth drag the soaked fabric from her, down her thighs until he can tug them with his fingers over her black suede boots. When he’s met with her swollen center, he slowly lets his tongue drag up her slit, collecting some of her arousal so that he can push against her clit until she cries out and tugs on his hair again after pushing her skirt out of the way. With her permission and her obvious enthusiasm, he places her thighs upon his shoulders and grabs her ass with his hands, letting his tongue trace gentle, hot patterns along her core until she’s chanting his name. He feels her squeezing her thighs together against his head, so he moves his right hand from behind her and slides a finger through her arousal, swirling his tongue on her clit and tucking his finger into her, causing her to squeeze harder. 

“Fuck, yes, Killian,” she praises, pulling on his hair and slamming her other hand against the desk. “Fuck, more.” 

He hums against her and she cants her hips against his mouth. “You want more?” She nods. “You want two fingers? Three?”

“Yes, please yes,” she begs. “I want your cock.”

“Mm mm,” he hums, shaking his head as he drags his tongue over her clit. “Come on my tongue first, love,” he commands as he adds another finger and curls them until she stutters. “Be a good girl and I’ll give you what you want.”

“Oh fuck,” she moans, her muscles tightening around his fingers. “More,” she begs again. 

“My, my, someone’s desperate.” He slips a third finger into her and she squeaks out something inaudible, grip somehow tightening on his hair as she comes hard around him. “That’s it, love,” he coaxes, working her through it, not letting up in hopes of preparing her for more. 

“Shit,” she breathes as she lets her head fall back on her neck. He stands, never letting his fingers stop their slow, languid movements as she continues to twitch around them, and presses soft kisses to the bare skin of her chest, up her neck, until their lips meet. Her breathing continues to stutter against him as he keeps up his ministrations until eventually she’s whimpering against him, nearly ready to come again, so he backs off and removes his hands from her all together. “Mean,” she accuses. 

With a soft laugh, he begins working on the button of his pants and slides the zipper down. “Apologies, but I believe the lady mentioned wanting something other than my fingers?”

“Oh, yes,” she agrees fervidly. He feels her fingers against his stomach, pulling at the waist of his pants as if helping him out of them. “I’ve wanted to see your body for so long. You leave way too much to the imagination under that robe.”

“And what have you imagined?” he asks against her neck. 

She pulls at his shirt, free of his collar now, until it’s over his head and she’s able to press her palms against his chest. “This,” she breathes, scratching her nails through the coarse hair. “Sometimes I would see your forearms and just imagine how much hair you would have all over.”

He loses his breath as she leans towards him and licks against his taut nipple and says, “aye.”

“So hot,” she murmurs against him, dragging her nails down his front and sending a shiver through him. His fly is down but his pants are still up, and she seems disappointed in this as she shakes her head and tugs them down his thighs. The only thing between her hand and his cock is his thin boxer briefs, and she traces her fingers along the outline of his tip and up his shaft so lightly that it makes him shiver again. 

He slides his hands up her thighs again, scratching his fingers along the way, and hums appreciatively at the feel of her soft skin. “It’s been quite a long time since I’ve...” 

“I would hope so, _Father_ ,” she flirts, sneaking her hand into his briefs and gripping him with firm tenderness. 

“What did I tell you?” he bites out, sucking a mark into her neck that she’ll surely wear tomorrow. 

She moans at the sensation, and at him licking her tender skin. “Killian,” she corrects. 

He captures her lips in his again, kissing her with a passion he’s been craving to show her for the six months that she’s been coming to mass. Maybe he should’ve known how she felt from the start; there are only a few people in town who attend mass more than once a week, and she’s come to nearly each one, sitting in the front row and constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs. He can only hope that means he’s had an affect on her all along. “I love you,” he mumbles against her mouth as she deepens the kiss, pulling him closer and tugging his underwear down his legs until he can kick them off. 

She repeats his sentiment back to him again and again as he unhooks her bra and slides it off. She says it again as he pulls her skirt off of her hips, letting it fall to the floor between them. She repeats it once more as he slides his cock up and down through her folds, letting her arousal coat the both of them. It doesn’t take long, given how wet she is, and he’s breathlessly lining himself up to her entrance in a matter of moments. “Please,” she begs again, lacing her fingers into his hair and pulling his mouth back to hers. He tucks himself into her as she kisses him, her tongue exploring his mouth so that he can feel the moan she lets out. 

He breaks from her and groans into her neck, pulling her close to him so that he can feel her breasts pressed into his chest and her chest and stomach heaving with each heavy intake of breath. He’s glad he brought her close to the edge already, because she feels so perfect around him that he knows he won’t last long. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” he says as he kisses her once more. 

She starts to become restless in his arms as he pumps into her, and she wriggles to the edge of the desk until he’s picking her up and supporting her weight. She pushes against his shoulders, not breaking their kiss, and guiding him backwards into the chair he scooped her out of. Planting himself down without leaving her core, her suede-covered knees brace herself on either side of his hips until she grips his shoulders firmly and starts riding him mercilessly. The way she thrusts makes her breasts bounce before his face and he can’t help but to sneak a nipple into his mouth, sucking it until she whimpers and digs her nails into his skin. Eventually, when he can hardly take anymore, he plants his feet firmly on the floor and begins to thrust his hips up into her until she’s panting into the skin of his neck. “Don’t stop,” she breathes. Then, “harder.”

She meets his every movement with her own until he feels her fluttering and squeezing and falling apart around him. He places his fingers against her clit and she cries out, hugging herself to him and shouting his name just a bit too loudly. He praises himself for lasting and, once he’s certain that she’s reached the precipice and is falling off the same edge he’s about to topple over, he praises her as well. Squeezing his eyes shut, he gives in to the building pressure and lets himself go as her tight walls clench around him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he says, continuing his thrusts as she does the same, holding her around the back of her shoulders and pulling her close to him. He kisses against the skin of her collarbone and then her neck, and then her lips when she gets close enough. “Bloody brilliant.”

She hums against his kiss, continuing to lazily move her hips against his as she comes down from the high they chased together. “Agreed.”

He lets out a soft laugh and asks, “worth blaspheming a man of the cloth?” 

“For me? Absolutely,” she confirms, giggling and hugging him tighter, squeezing his hips with her thighs. “For you?” 

Be hums thoughtfully. “Aye. Being with the woman I love is all that I need.”

It’s true, what he tells her that night. He sends his resignation via email in the middle of the night, packing his things while she watches but too tired from their second go round to help him. They leave for Boston the next morning, before anyone can ask questions. He had asked her questions, of course, like whether she would miss Storybrooke or her family. She informed him that she simply came for a job and has no family to speak of, aside from him. And so they travel to Boston, building a life together that’s exactly as they want it. 


End file.
